Love You to the Moon and Back
by Letsnottalkaboutitaye
Summary: A pair of young lovers steal to the mountains; it's their first trip as adults; it's their first trip not having to tell anyone where they're going. *Unrelated*Itacest. Rating may go up; OOC; AU; HU; PH [3-part multi chap]


"Bye, Mom!" I yelled, enthusiasm dripping from my tone as I skipped down the cement stairs, a heavy bag on my shoulders.

"Where are you going?" she screamed back at me. A flare of accomplishment, as if I had done one over on her, pulsed through my chest.

"I'll be back in a week!"

She couldn't hold me. I was 18 as of three weeks ago, and today was my first time using such a privilege. School had just let out for winter break, and aside from basketball camp (which I would be missing and getting bitched-out for via coach) I had no responsibilities to tend to.

Lovino rolled his eyes at me as I came up to his car. "You're an idiot."

"Awe, what a romantic," I chirped. I knew I couldn't kiss him here, not where my sister might be able to see (she was good friends with Lovino's brother, and Lovino's brother didn't know how to keep a secret), so eagerly I slung (hefted) my supplies into the back alongside his and bounded into shotgun.

It really had been an accident. I didn't mean to fall in love with Lovino, my very own schoolyard bully, but something about him was just so intriguing.

Our feud had started in elementary school. I remember it like it was yesterday. Our teacher was putting on a 2nd-3rd grade Christmas production, and everyone had to have a role. Our classes were lacking in females, so one of the boys had to play a girl. I had eagerly volunteered. My grandfather had always told me that the quickest way to a girl's heart was confidence, and my little 2nd-grade self had developed a major crush on Natalie, a mean girl that seemed to never notice me outside of recess tag (where she would take every opportunity to push me into the mud). If wearing a dress would help me steal that hidden kiss on the side of her mouth, then I was ready to drag like a queen.

The day of the play had come, and I had never been happier. Everyone called me cute and cooed over my outfit, and I caught Natalie smiling at me. She was laughing; meanly, of course, but that was her and I had fallen for that tittering way of speech. It made me want to better myself. Grandpa said that those were the best girls to go after (it wouldn't be until my 8th grade year that he would also share the fact that they were also the best in bed).

I had been going over my line (yes, singular) when a bitch-faced Lovino came up to me. He was dressed in an uncomfortably stiff tree costume, and something about him made my blood boil. I don't know what it was. They do say that kids are the best at reading people, so maybe it was just my radar.

"You look gay."

That was all he said before walking away. I didn't know why, but my boiling blood raced and suddenly I didn't only dislike that stupid tree, I _hated_ it.

The next day at school, I had _accidently_ put a wad of chewing gum in his hair. He cleverly responded by punching me in the face. My throbbing eye was worth it the next day, though, when he stooped into school with a hood over his head. Our teacher made him take it off. I couldn't help smiling for the rest of the day; his brother had shaved his head so close to bald that even from across the room I could see a freckle at the top of the egg he called a head.

That's where it all started. If it hadn't been for teachers and parents and siblings, we probably would have killed each other in the early days. He ruined so many of my favorite shirts when we had a messy hot lunch, and I still reflect on the time I had gotten away with putting a handful of thumbtacks on his chair. There were punches and tears and growing vocabularies. It wasn't long before our peers caught on and took the drama into their own hands. Wonderous, really; it all became a game. One of playing fields and sleezy comments and hatred.

Hatred until it bloomed into something else. It was my third middle school dance, despite me only having been in year seven (what can I say, my grandfather's advice worked), when I think I first realized what abhorrence could become under the influence of flashing lights and preteen hormones. I had finally gotten Natalie to say yes to me taking her. I had probably taken three hours to get ready, making sure my hair was straight, that my tie matched my shoes and my undershirt, practicing my innocent flirting faces in the mirror. There was pimple on my forehead that night and I had stolen a bit of my mother's foundation to cover it up. Everything was going perfectly.

Until I got to the dance and saw Natalie dancing with _Lovino_. It wasn't even good dancing! (Granted, it was middle school. No dancing was good dancing.) I was so hurt, but at the same time so angry. Natalie knew that I hated Lovino, and Lovino knew I had a crush on Natalie. My twelve-year-old self had constructed the conspiracy of the year as I stomped over to confront them.

"Thanks for keeping my date company," I had sneered at Lovino, the bestest, most-friendliest smile on my face ("Kill them with kindness," Grandpa always said) "I'm sure she's having the best time being groped by your clammy hands."

One thing had led to another and Lovino and I ended up getting into another one of our fist fights. Kids circled around us, Natalie stood on the side with a smirk on her face. I decided that night that I hated her, too—no matter how pretty she was.

The teachers had been quick to call our parents and kick us out of the cafeteria-turned-flashy-zoo. Sitting outside on the cold sidewalk, crossed arms and held back tears, I waited for my mom. That's when Lovino sat down beside me.

"You're a fucking cockblock, I was going to get laid tonight." He had said bitterly.

"That was _my_ date!" I had shouted back at him.

He shrugged coldly. "Finders keepers."

I could have started a fist fight again right then and there. Actually, I had planned to start a fist fight. I hated this kid with all my heart and soul and I wanted to see him dead. Only, when I turned to throw my punch, I caught him staring at me.

I had caught him staring plenty of times before. He needed to get a life, really. But, this time was different. His eyes were dark, and his face was contemplative. I almost felt that I was in danger.

Thankfully Lovino's older brother had pulled up, taking him away.

I didn't know why my heart was beating so fast until freshman year when we shared our first kiss under the football bleachers. It was messy and fueled with anger (I had gotten back at him by fingering his homecoming date and _accidently_ telling Francis, the freshman class's biggest gossip bug) and something about it was absolutely animalistic. From there it fell into rhythm. In public we tried to kill each other with pranks and comments and rumors, and in private we would try to kill one another with teeth and claws and whatever-the-hell we could pin the other to. It was fun.

Even now, three years later, it was fun. Though it had simmered down; we were no longer so impulsive, our relationship was far from just sexual, and, sitting in Lovino's silver 2014 Jeep Wrangler with an _All Time Low_ tire-cover boasted proudly on the back, hugging the soft sides of a snow-shawled mountain, we were embarking on a trip that wasn't planned as some teenage get-away with stolen booze and haggled weed. It was just a trip for us to get away. To enjoy being eighteen, to not have to worry about the list of scholarships in our inboxes, to just relax in the mountains and enjoy one another's company.

One of Lovino's hands was firmly clasped on the steering wheel, the other was gentle, fingers laced with mine and settled warmly on the thigh of his snow-suit. There was little talking between us. A dirty aux chord was plugged into the car's radio, the hard-top of the Jeep was secure (though it did rattle a bit), and the heat let out little puffs once-in-a-while, making me want to open the window, my heavy winter coat and layered jeans being too much in the artificial warmth. Outside patterned trees dotted the beautifully grey sky, white filling their branches, as if the royally green needles were small, prickled fingers that reached out to cup and touch each small snowflake with care, love, and fondness. The brown and black barks stabilized the glistening image, creating a wonderfully vast foreverness branch-to-branch, tree-to-tree.

I almost broke the contact between me and Lovino to reach back and grab my drawing pad but decided against it. We had a whole week of camping ahead of us. I was sure that I would find the time to draw and take pictures.

Instead, I took to enjoying the music and the contact. I also took to enjoying the conversation— _the conversation_ referring to my talking and Lovino's mutterings back at me. He wasn't the most talkative person, but it was okay. I could talk for the both of us, and it was almost therapeutic to have someone just listen to you. It was like talking into the ocean. And, somewhere along the line, the ocean had become my best friend.

"—and I'm pretty sure Antonio is going to hand me my ass in scrimmage when I get back," I giggled, referring to Lovino's brother. Antonio had been the top of the basketball and soccer teams before he graduated, and he was planning on going into college sports after his gap year (he didn't need a gap year, he had handfuls of full rides being offered to him for his playing and grades, but he had stayed for a year anyway, and Lovino and I could _only guess why_.)

"I'll be sure to tell him to go hard on you." Lovino promised. I winked at him playfully, but he cut me off. "And if you say anything sexual right now, I'm going to push you out of my car and leave you."

I feigned a whine. "C'mon, Lovi, you wouldn't do that."

"Try me."

I giggled. "Can I say something sexual now?"

Lovino rolled his eyes with a groan. The car rattled, causing the conversation to die as Lovino put his full focus onto the thinning road. He let go of my hand and grasped the wheel with both now. I waited silently until we found stable ground again.

"I'm pretty sure my brother is banging your sister," Lovino said a few minutes later, continuing.

I sent him a cynical look. "Oh yeah?" I said, acting like this wasn't the millionth conversation on the subject. "Wonder what they'd think of us, then." We hadn't told anyone of our relationship. It was too much fun being seen as two rivals, and honestly, we weren't looking to fuel the freshman class's fanfictions. Though not telling Elizaveta or Antonio was purely egotistical. We had grown up ranting about each other, so going back on it now would kill everything. Anyway, it would be awkward. Antonio and Elizaveta were in an on-and-off relationship since they were in diapers.

"Nothing, I bet. Antonio doesn't have the balls to take the next step with anyone." Lovino laughed.

I pushed his shoulder lightly, careful not to throw off his driving balance. "Give him more credit, Lovi. He stayed back from school!"

"Because he's scared to become an adult. Don't root for them. You know, if they decided to get hitched that would make us _related_."

We shivered in unison.

"So," Lovino concluded, "just be glad that I know my brother well enough to know that he doesn't have the sack to get down on one knee."

There was a long pause. I didn't know if I should be chilled or be shaking with laughter. "I wouldn't put Elli past being the one to propose."

"You know what we have to do, then." Lovino decided.

I nodded. "Operation Break Up the Bastards."

"Round six," Lovino smirked.

I stole forward, pressing my lips against his, pulling away quickly before he could reprehend me for distracting him from the mountain road. "Are we there yet?" I asked. "Why are we going so far up?"

"I'm going to an old family spot," he said. "My mother used to take me and Toni up here."

I kept the inappropriate jokes to myself. It was my job to be the sympathetic one, and I was not going to joke about screwing him in his mother's favorite camping spot, seeing as his mother had died of cancer a decade ago. "I'm excited to see it," I settled on, happily. He sent me a tight-lipped smile, and I knew that I had said the right thing.

We finally pulled into a small road that came off the main one, tires dipping into snow-covered pot holes as it rode down to a large opening between trees. There were small divots where old tracks from an RV or other camping vehicle had been, fresh, powdery snow covering the majority of the mark. Lovino parked over the area. "Here we are," he mumbled, cutting the engine and pushing himself out of the car. I followed suit, helping wrangle out the tub of supplies Lovino had packed, followed by the tent and small battery-operated heater.

I stomped around, trying to find the most level spot. The area was sloped so there was nowhere that was totally stable, but with a cry I called out what I thought to be the best. Lovino tossed a shovel my way.

Within an hour the tent was up and Lovino was untangling the mess of blankets from my bag. "You brought a lot of junk food," he chuckled, adding to the pile of founds as he continued pulling out blankets.

"It's to stay warm," I whined back at him.

He just shook his head with a half-hearted "fatass."

"You're the one that doesn't work out," I shot back, scrunching up my nose at him.

"I work out plenty," he said calmly, not looking up from his task. "I'm just not a stupid jock."

I rolled my eyes with a slight huff. I seriously didn't understand how he and Antonio could be brothers. One was so good with people, varsity in most sports freshman year, captain by junior, class president, volunteering to help where ever he could. The other—the other was Lovino.

Granted, they were similar in some areas, but unless Lovino was comfortable he wouldn't let those areas show.

I sighed, continuing with the dug-out pit and some kindling.

* * *

"How do you draw in this lighting?" Lovino muttered in my ear. Every word from him came with a gentle rhythm of his body, my back rounded into his chest and my legs pulled into his lap. His chin rested on my shoulder and his arms were wrapped comfortably around my waist. I knew he was growing tried by the repetitive way he played with the hem of my shirt (a mindless luxury that he fell into after pulling all-nighters before a big test or calming down after a fight) and by the warm, low hum of his voice. Like his tongue was weight down by a gallop of honey and he fought to speak past it without letting the sugar move. My knees were what stabilized my drawing pad as I stippled a rough, monochrome interpretation of our surroundings.

It was dark, the fire was all that illuminated the area, casting a harsh orange along a small patch of snow before being smudged brown and, eventually, joining the naval darkness of the looming trees around us. Due to the level my pad was at, angled towards me, the lip of the paper cutting off the filtered and popping light, there was a harsh shadow dimming the watered-down chrome yellow of the page.

It didn't mind me, though. "I'm stippling," I said back lightly, focus in my harsh points rather than then way that Lovino tightened his arm and trailed his thumb across the base of my stomach.

He offered a heavy hum and a small, indignant, "it looks like you're just making dots."

"That's because I am." I chuckled back, pressing back and closing into his embracing warmth. I couldn't draw with gloves on, it threw off my balance and caused a strange anxiety that I was never able to explain away, so my fingers were stiff and brazenly hard to move. It made my usual style of drawing impossible, but I had been meaning to try out my new ink pen, so I accepted stippled trees as both a solution and a necessity.

Another hum came with Lovino's own version of brazen fingers. I sighed and gave in, padding my finger on the page to make sure the ink wouldn't smudge before closing the binding and putting it down on a lip of tarp that wasn't taken up by us. As I turned to meet Lovino face-to-face, I slid frozen fingers under his shirt, sliding them up to meet the warmth of his chest and sides.

He flinched backwards, but I didn't give him any time to complain at me before I had stolen forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. Lovino shuffled to pull the blanket that hung off his shoulders closed around the both of us, and I let my kisses find his neck, a trail of teasing bites that I knew would cause him to tighten his jaw as he forced himself to wait and enjoy (it took a while to get him to stop being so impulsive, but I had found a way to encourage him.) "If I don't get into art school," I muttered against his skin, "then I'm blaming it all on you."

"It's because of me that you're going to get into any school at all," he joked back, hands sliding palm-down against my back.

"Hey, my grades are fine," I defended, hands crawling until they found his collarbone, his shoulders, half covered by a now unneeded fabric. I spoke along his neck, my knees causing a crisp crinkle in the tarp as I moved with the soft vibrations of Lovino's breaths. "Not all of us can get a perfect SAT score, and I don't understand why you're not smart enough to realize that."

Though, he was probably right. If it wasn't for him I would probably have never started studying and would have double-down on Operation Evade the Homework. Between art and sports, I never really gave much heed to my grades. Not to mention the fact that, especially during basketball and soccer season, when I was at the school from 7 in the morning to 7 in the afternoon (game days could have me walking in the door well past eleven depending on the distance), it was hard to produce and practice my trade and _also_ give a damn about mathematic and historic theories that would only tie into my interests if it could be tied into architecture (and even then I could only care for so long before I didn't).

Lovino was top of our class and he took great pride in it. So much pride, in fact, that when he found out that I had a D in World History Sophomore year I think he had a panic attack and convinced himself that I was some how holding _him_ down. If there was one thing about Lovino, it was that he was afraid of failure. He wouldn't admit it, of course, but I've seen the way he tenses when something isn't _right_ , and I know his moods when one of his plans has been changed. Sex helped him cope in times like these, but it was always only a partial fix.

Pillow-talk (as he so callously put it) was a second fix that stuck longer. It was the only time I could trick him into talking about uncomfortable topics because if he started closing off again I would just initiate a round two. Granted, as we grew closer to our futures, he had started panicking more and talking to me more. It was usually during 3 am skype calls because he was studying and I was drawing and neither of us wanted to be alone, but it was more than he had offered before, and I was learning to shut-up and let him talk.

Right now, was not one of those time. The zipper of my coat was undone and shrugged down and away, and I pulled away enough to let him put my shirt up and over my head, snaking my arms free long enough for him to do so. He wrapped the blanket tighter around us, his lips finding my shoulder as I deepened the movements of my hips. It was cold, freezing, really, but I knew that it would make a good story later, and if one didn't live for stories I wasn't sure what exactly they were living for. "It's going to be interesting to see how our lives are so far apart," I said pulling at his shirt. "You're going to get your acceptance letter and move to Massachusetts and I'll be stuck in Washington forever."

My soul could feel his eyeroll as he worked out of his own clothing, stealing kisses across my chest as he did so. "It'll be fine. The both of us will be too busy to date, anyway. Studies first, Fell."

I giggled. Lovino was so smart, but he was also the dumbest person I think I had ever met. His tongue was moist and warm and brilliant against my skin as he attempted to be a tease, and I found my arms on his shoulders, nails scraping slowly down his back, deciding whether they'd turn and palm or tear and rip and scar as I picked up the intensity of my grind.

The blanket fell away from my back, allowing the harsh bitterness of the winter air mix with the smoldering heat of the close fire to etch into exposed nakedness. I closed my eyes, imagining myself a canvas stuck between passion and reality.

Rip and tear and scar, then.

I dipped my chin and pressed against his ear, biting at my cheek as the sensations mixed and moved. Lovino's hand was rough against my side, falling to my hip, an assist to my movements, his teeth upsetting before soothing with a swirled tongue and harnessed all by a light groan as I grabbed a fistful of hair. "It'll be fun to see how many times we break up," I breathed teasingly over his ear, emphasizing my point with a light pressing of my nails into his back.

His hands stopped over the button of my pants. I could help but smile against his cheek and press further into him.

"How many times we break up?" he asked, as if it wasn't the most obvious revelation.

"Twice at least," I said, moving to put our foreheads together. His brown eyes were dark, shadows and passion and confusion and maybe even a little bit of betrayal. For someone so closed off, he really was an open book if one knew where to look.

"What?" His eyebrows furrowed in an angry _pout_ , though if I were to tell him to stop pouting he would roll his eyes and stop talking all together. So instead I moved my arms from his shoulders, moving down bare skin until I was at the base of his stomach and could give him a sly smile. With a small tug I kissed him gently. He didn't bite, and I chuckled at him (with him if he ever learned what a sense of humor was).

"Us breaking up," I said easily, playing with his lip before continuing. "I imagine at the very least it will be twice. Between the distance, the cheating, and the different career paths it could be way more, though."

He pulled away. "The cheating!"

I had to hold back a bubble of laughter. "Yeah. See, you're going to be the first one to cheat." His glare begged me to continue. "You're the weakest out of the two of us, it's nothing personal. I already have my 'How could you? I trusted you!' speech written up."

"Are you saying that we should break up?"

My heart softened. I don't know if it was out of pity or love or perhaps a mix of both, but in this moment looking at Lovino with his softening brows and hurt eyes and pensive frown—it reminded me why I stayed through the "fuck you"s of the early days. Lovino could be vulnerable, and somehow the fact that it was rare make it so much more heartwarming.

I offered him a smile that I hoped said everything my heart wanted to say, brushing along his cheek. "No, of course not, Lovino. I'm just saying that we should be realistic." This didn't appease him, and quickly his vulnerability took on a more calloused approach. I rolled my eyes. "Lovino, I love you," I said, very cut-and-dry, "and I want this to work from now until I can mooch off you and your success," he didn't find my joke funny and I sighed. "I love you, but—"

"Why does there have to be a 'but' in that, Feliciano?" he demanded.

"Because, Lovino, our relationship started with sex and I know that you're better off when you have sex. I went to my aunt's wedding and was gone for a _week_ Lovino, and you seemed pretty pissed about that."

"It was finals, I was stressed, why do we—"

"You're dream school is Harvard, Lov," I chuckled. "You're going to be stressed a lot more than you were even over the SATs. I want this to work—"

"But you don't think it will."

I stared at him for a long moment. There was a way about communicating with a brainiac like this. He listened to ultimatums and made calculations and decisions based on logic and gathered data of yes's and no's. Anything in between was seen as a yes or a no with inconclusive alternatives. So, when it came to this, he freaked out and he jumped to conclusions. When it came to this I had to tell him what he wanted to hear while simultaneously sprinkling in what I _want_ him to hear.

I didn't let it deter me. I loved these games. I loved him. "I know it will work out, Lovino," I concluded, offering a cheeky smile and a squeeze on his shoulders. "It's going to work because if you try to squirm your way out of it I'll send my sister out to mafia your ass." His small eyeroll told me he was listening, and also that he was maybe thinking about not thinking anymore (I think thinking was his biggest problem). "And to make it work we're going to have to be resourceful, we're going to have to be scrappy, we're going to have to be the founding fathers; you hear me, Lovino?"

"Stop being a cheese."

I laughed. A cheese. He called me a cheese. Shaking my head, I grabbed his hand and interlaced our fingers. I let my giggles calm before I continued (though the cold was definitely helping my giggles on their trembling course). "We're not going to break up, Lov, and we're not going to go on a break. We're going to commence in Operation—Operation Expanding Boarders. On the basis that we've really only had _one_ significant other in our lives, and on the basis of the distance, you and I are going to focus on growing as people in the two to six years we'll be apart. Don't give me that look, Lov. I still expected you to skype me at least once a week, and if you think we're going to spend Christmas apart then you have another thing coming. However, during the down days we stay open to flexibility."

"You say that's not a break yet—"

I cut him off with a tightly hissed hum. "No, Lovino, it's not a break. It's us understanding how the world works. We're going to change as people and we're going to get sexually frustrated. Now, we can either go into this promising Pope-like devotion and end up actually breaking up and just going our separate ways, or we can go into this like adults that understand needs need to be met."

Lovino's eyes were downcast. I feared that he was going to close off. I placed a gentle hand on his chest, ready to start again. However, Lovino opened his mouth and I forced myself to stop and shut up.

"That's great, Fell, but you can't promise me that feelings won't get mixed up in it. You can't promise me that you won't fall in love with someone else, and I can't promise you that either. You'll be surrounded by people that get why you're getting a liberal arts degree instead of something useful, you'll find someone that's better spoken when it comes to fucking emotions, you'll meet people that will understand you better than I can."

And there it was again. The thrum. Had he put so much thought into this camping trip that he had found a way to have a panic attack when anything beyond it was mentioned? If this conversation was brought up yesterday, I know that he would have just told me to do what I wanted because he was going to be some big lawyer and too busy, anyway. But here, right now, he was actually letting on something of his worry.

I didn't know what to say so I giggled. His jaw tightened, and I pressed a kiss to the first part of his face I could reach. "You always say that love is a social construct, Lov, so what would it matter if you let your feelings get wrapped up into it? Who knows! Maybe they'll teach you how to better communicate."

"You always say that love is a perfect intimacy," Lovino dead-panned.

"Oh, it is, so don't you dare tell anyone _but me_ that you love them," I shot back seriously. "But, also consider opening up to others while you're there. Make friends, make friends with benefits, grow as a person and decide what you like and what you want. I believe in our connection, and I believe that the day we actually come together again will be the day that we can come together as people rather than kids. We'll keep contact through it all, so it won't be like we're totally apart, but this chapter of our lives has to be developed apart so that when we come together again we can develop into something stronger than what we have now." I smiled at him. "And that's saying a lot, because what we have now if bulletproof."

Lovino was the one that came forward with a kiss. It was soft and gentle and the way we melted together was so practiced and good that I would believe it to even be perfect. Lovino was perfect because he had the potential to be anything he set his mind to. Sometimes his mind needed soothing, but that was okay. He was beautiful and he was flawed and he was the love of my life.

What a silly boy for thinking I would give that up for someone getting a liberal arts degree. We can't have two idiots, there had to be some sort of balance.

* * *

 ** _AUTHOR'S NOTES_**

 _Not over, this will be a three part story.  
_

 _Style is inspired by_ We Have Always Live in the Castle _by_ Shirley Jackson.


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